


In Your Arms

by merthurpendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:30:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurpendragon/pseuds/merthurpendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's back. Everything should be good... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Arms

It was the anniversary of Arthur’s death. Another year gone by with the same results: no Arthur. Merlin honestly didn’t know how much more he could take. Sixteen centuries had passed and he was still alone, still heartbroken. He hadn’t moved from the city that had grown, shrunk, and then grown again around Avalon Lake. He wanted to make sure that when, not if, Arthur came back, he’d be able to find him.   
  
Just like every year, Merlin woke early. This morning felt different, there was a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach but Merlin shoved it away and went about his morning in the usual way. He showered and shaved and pulled on clothes that were similar to his old: jeans, a loose blue top, a brown leather jacket, and a red neckerchief; it was the best he could do in the modern age. Then he packed himself a lunch, two sandwiches - turkey and thick slices of cheddar cheese, which was similar to the kind Arthur liked. Merlin rolled up some blankets and a towel and stuffed some extra clothes into the backpack as well. Once all this was done, he slung the bag over his shoulders and locked up his flat, headed to the lake.   
  
The lake was a touristy place to go now. It had gained popularity with the Arthurian legends that most people believed to be just myth. Merlin liked to listen to people talk about it. Sometimes he even joined in; it was the only time he could talk about Arthur without having to pretend he was still alive. (He accidentally slipped sometimes when talking to his friends.)   
  
Merlin walked through the busier parts of the lake to a special spot, the spot where he’d sent Arthur off. It was, thankfully, mostly quiet. There was the occasional wanderer or the family looking for a nice spot for a picnic. But people usually steered clear when they saw Merlin, by himself, with a lunch spread out of a thick blanket. Sometimes they threw him sad looks, like he was being stood up (which he was, technically) or that he was just a lonely guy who wanted a nice lunch in a nice place (which was half-true).   
  
Today, as Merlin sat on the blanket, a feeling grew inside him. He’d always felt it, every day, worse on the anniversary, but today it felt different. Today it felt more alive, more aggressive. Slowly, as the hours dragged on and nothing happened, the feeling painted his insides black and swallowed him whole.   
  
By the end of the day, as the daylight began to fade, all Merlin could feel was despair. For some reason, it felt like that if Arthur didn’t show today, he’d never show at all.   
  
The sun dipped below the trees and still no Arthur.   
  
The feeling of despair consumed Merlin. It was a deep, terrible ache in his chest, in his soul. ‘Two sides of the same coin’, the dragon had told him long ago. Well, he was only one side now. The other side was gone, dead, and it didn’t look like he was ever coming back.   
  
Merin angrily got to his feet and stomped to the edge of the water. “How could you do this to me?!” he burst out. His voice echoed against the trees and out across the water. “How could you leave me?!” His voice broke. He fell to his knees. The water lapped at his legs, the mud seeped in through his pants. He sobbed quietly, the tears falling one right after the other.   
  
“I hate you for leaving,” he said to himself. Then, louder, at the lake, “I hate you for dying!” Merlin covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. What was he without Arthur? What was he when he wasn’t saving that dollopheaded king? “You clotpole!” he yelled. “You dollophead...” Merlin grabbed at rocks and dirt and clumps of grass and he flung them at the lake. He paid no mind to the fact that his clothes were soaked and caked with mud. He was too consumed with his anguish to notice that someone had come out of the lake, dripping, shivering, and wearing chainmail.   
  
“S-s-sir,” he chattered, stepping towards the distressed stranger.   
  
Merlin looked up, ready to unleash a torrent of curses. But what he saw made him pause. “Arthur?” he asked breathlessly. It couldn’t be. It was getting dark. This was just some poor bloke who’d gone for a dip and didn’t bring a towel. But why would he be wearing chain mail to a lake...   
  
The man gave a look of relief. “Thank g-g-god you kn-know who I am,” he said, teeth clacking. “The la-last fam-m-mily I ra-ran into di-didn’t. Ca-can you hel-help m-m-me?”   
  
Merlin scrambled to his feet and flung himself at Arthur, nearly knocking the both of them down in the process. Arthur was ramrod straight as he was embraced by the dark-haired man who appeared to be crying again.   
  
“Arthur,” Merlin said, sensing the king’s hesitation. He pulled away. His arms felt empty and his body felt cold but Arthur obviously didn’t recognize him. “It’s me, it’s Merlin.”  
  
Arthur’s face changed instantly. “Merlin!” he cried and eagerly wrapped his arms around Merlin’s bony shoulders. Merlin, in the heat of the moment, pressed his lips against the shivering blond’s. Arthur pulled away immediately, stepping out of the embrace. He kept his eyes on the ground.   
  
“D-do you have ext-tra clothes?” he mumbled. Merlin’s face turned red and he wordlessly held up the backpack that contained the dry clothes. Arthur took it and disappeared behind a bush. He returned a few moments later, carrying the armful of wet armour. He dropped it with a clatter on the blanket and then bent down and grabbed the uneaten sandwich, which was looking rather sad by now.   
  
Merlin, avoiding Arthur’s gaze, scooped up the blanket and tied the corners to make a makeshift sack. “So,” Arthur said to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. “How long have I been, y’know, dead?”   
  
“Um, sixteen centuries,” Merlin replied. He gathered up everything else and brushed off the pieces of dirt and grass that weren’t encrusted into his clothes.   
  
Arthur’s blue eyes widened. “Sixteen _centuries_?” he echoed. Then, to mask his shock, he said, “Well, I can see that your hygiene hasn’t improved.” Arthur nodded towards Merlin’s muddied clothes.   
  
“Easy fix,” Merlin said. “Just pop ‘em in the washer.” Arthur opened his mouth, no doubt to ask questions, so Merlin cut him off. “I’ll answer your questions later; let’s just get home, okay?”   
  
Arthur nodded. “Right,” he said. “The sooner Albion has its king back, the better.” He began walking but Merlin just stared at him, a sad look crossing his face. “Merlin, don’t just stand there like a sad puppy, let’s go. I’m sure Gwen -” His voice cut off. “Sixteen centuries. Gwen, she’s not - she’s not alive, is she?”   
  
Slowly, Merlin shook his head. “No, my lord,” he said softly. “She isn’t.”   
  
“And Albion?”   
  
“Gone, sire.”   
  
This was about the time that Arthur dissolved into tears.   
  
Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur cry in a long, long time and he’d only seen it happen once or twice. He quickly dropped what he was holding and moved towards Arthur. But Arthur, seeing Merlin advance towards him, stepped back. “No,” he said. “Don’t. I’m okay.” Merlin’s heart clenched and he regretted kissing him earlier. It ruined everything. Now Arthur didn’t even want him to touch him. Arthur cleared his throat. “Now, you were saying something about home?”   
  
So Merlin took Arthur back to his flat. Arthur marveled at everything he saw on the streets, from the cars to the bicycles but he didn’t ask any questions like Merlin had asked. When they got to the flat, Arthur parked himself in front of the telly immediately. Merlin flipped through the channels until he landed on an infomercial.   
  
“Here,” he said. “This will explain some things to you. I’m going to go wash now.” Merlin went to his bedroom and stepped out of his ruined clothes. He dug around in his drawers for something to change into. After he’d found something suitable, Merlin dropped the dirty clothes off in the washroom and headed for the bathroom.   
  
He’d just stepped under the spray of the showerhead when the door opened.   
  
“Arthur, I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he said impatiently. “Just let me get washed up, alright?” The shower curtain was pushed aside. “Jesus, Arthur, patience!” Merlin yelped, covering up his manly bits.    
  
“Why did you kiss me?” Arthur demanded.   
  
“Can we talk about this later?” Merlin asked. He was getting cold and stepped back underneath the warm water. “Like, maybe when I’m not naked in the shower?”   
  
Arthur shook his head. “No,” he said. “There may be no Albion but I am the king, dammit, and you will do as I say and I say answer my question!”   
  
“I don’t know!” Merlin said loudly. “I did it because you’re back and I was happy and I just, I reacted.” Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. “I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you and I was afraid you’d disappear.” Arthur nodded then. Then he shucked his shirt and pants and stepped into the shower.   
  
Merlin’s shower wasn’t very big and there wasn’t a lot of space between them. Arthur wasn’t under the spray but his stomach was dotted with droplets from the splatter off Merlin. Arthur reached forward and gripped Merlin’s arms, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed against each other. Arthur cupped Merlin’s face, rubbing his thumb over the cheekbones that were so admired by everyone.   
  
“I never noticed before,” Arthur said softly, “but you... you’re beautiful.”   
  
“Don’t waste time with talking,” Merlin said, his voice growing husky. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and attached their lips. Unlike before, Arthur’s lips were warm now, warm and eager. And he tasted fabulous. He didn’t taste like he’d been dead for sixteen centuries, but like apples and faintly of the sandwich he’d had earlier.   
  
Arthur kissed Merlin’s jawline and down his neck, sucking lightly on his collar bone. Merlin let out a soft moan. “You know,” Arthur said between kisses. “I was stunned at first.” He pulled back to look at Merlin. “We’ve never had this kind of relationship. But I always, you know, I thought about it. Sometimes. There were always things going on, always something happening, and whenever we were alone, it never seemed like the right time. And then I had Gwen -”   
  
“Arthur,” Merlin said. “Can we talk later? I’m going to kiss you now.” And Merlin did kiss him. He kissed his lips, his chin, the hallow of his neck, and then a trail down his stomach until Merlin was on his knees at waist level.   
  
“Merlin,” Arthur gasped as Merlin took his cock into his mouth. He wove his fingers through Merlin’s wet hair and leaned back against the cold wall of the shower. Merlin swirled his tongue around the head. He sucked hard, running one hand up and down the inside of Arthur’s thigh. The other hand was pressed against Arthur’s ass, holding him in place.   
  
A wave of pleasure rocked through Arthur and he bucked, his hips thrusting on their own accord. Arthur let out a moan that sent shivers down Merlin’s spine. He could feel his own cock harden. With a guttural noise, Arthur came, his whole body shuddering as he rode out his orgasm. Merlin swallowed and stood up. Arthur leaned heavily against his manservant, panting. The shower beat against his back. The weight of Arthur was almost too much for Merlin, who had grown almost anorexically thin over the years, neglecting himself in his depression. So, slowly, muscles straining, Merlin moved so he was sitting on the floor of the shower, Arthur’s back to his chest, arms loosely encircling his body.  
  
In a breathy voice, Arthur said, “This is a strange way to wash.” Arthur leaned his head back so he could see Merlin’s face. “Where does the water come from?”   
  
Merlin smiled. His heart was still racing and his cock was still hard, his body thrumming with lust. “The pipes,” he said. He ran one hand lightly down Arthur’s arm and drew circles on Arthur’s abdomen with the other.   
  
“Pipes?” Arthur asked. He shivered at Merlin’s touch.   
  
“Yeah, they take the water from a source and bring it to all the buildings.”   
  
Arthur was quiet a moment before he whispered, “ _Fascinating_.” Then he turned around to face Merlin. His eyes flicked down to his erect member. Then, with a wicked smile, Arthur moved downwards and returned the favor. Merlin gasped, moaned, and arched his back, eyes closed, hands clenched into fists. When it was over, they both lay under the spray of the shower, eyes closed, bodies spent.   
  
“If this is how it’s going to be every day,” Arthur murmured sleepily. It seemed the events of the day had caught up to him. “I think I could like it here.”   
  
Merlin absently stroked Arthur’s hair. With the dozing king in his arms, the relaxing heat of the shower and steam and the endorphins rushing through his body, he was thinking the same thing. Now that Arthur was back, everything was going to be alright. Now that he had his king, the world was right again.


End file.
